


Line in the Sand

by knowtheway



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Graphic Description, Minor Violence, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowtheway/pseuds/knowtheway
Summary: She’d only been back in Greendale for a mere two weeks before she started to feel restless. Having spent the past five years in Europe had expanded her desires and sense of adventure far beyond the very small parameters her hometown could offer.
Relationships: Faustus Blackwood/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 28
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello! So part 3 is on its way, which means I’ve got ~1 1/2 months to write out all my self-indulgent ideas before I’m potentially shocked and disappointed with canon AGAIN. So... hey, here we are.

She’d only been back in Greendale for a mere two weeks before she started to feel restless. Having spent the past five years in Europe had expanded her desires and sense of adventure far beyond the very small parameters her hometown could offer. Her brother was on the precipice of something great - having risen through the ranks of the Church impressively quick in her absence (though he had regularly sought her council even from afar, so to see him succeed so efficiently was hardly a surprise). As a devoted sister and servant of the Dark Lord, it was her duty to return to his side and ensure his victory. But that didn’t stop her from wanting, guilty as she felt for it.

It was, therefore, a pleasant surprise when - after the first hymn of mass had concluded - she felt the presence of someone sit next to her and turned to see Edward’s former mentor looking ahead, fixing a button of his jacket and winking at her with a smirk when he caught her eye.

“Brother Blackwood,” she says in a hushed tone, smiling. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Sister Spellman,” he whispers back, not diverting his gaze from the altar where the High Priest was preparing to speak. “The Church is glad to have you back in Greendale - your... devotion certainly has been missed.”

“Might I ask where you devotion was last Sunday? I had expected to make my reaquaintance much sooner than now,” she says slyly. If she were being more truthful, she’d tell him he was one of the few things she had looked forward to upon her return - the lovers she’d taken in Europe leaving much to be desired - but she dare not give him the impression he had any hold over her lest it stroke his already inflated ego.

“I take it you didn’t receive my last letter,” he answers, finally looking at her with a playful brightness and she raises a brow questioningly. “I had the honor of visiting his Unholy Eminence in Rome as a representative for the coven.”

Her lips part, taking in a quick breath before giving him a warm smile. They had kept up a correspondence since she’d left all those years ago under the pretense of academic discussion and support, though there were times (perhaps many times) that academia was the last thing included. Their contact had been frequent, but just infrequent enough not to be considered intimate. Nonetheless, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a flutter of excitement every time she’d checked the post and saw his handwriting on an envelope. “How wonderful. Congratulations, brother.”

“Mmm, thank you,” he nods to her. “Had I known you were so near to returning, I’d have excluded my invitation to dinner in my message... I was rather disappointed not to receive a response.”

“Hm,” she breathes out, smirking. “Well, I am sorry to have disappointed you, but I’m sure that you found adequate company in my place.”

He lets out a low chuckle, “I’m sure you have, as well.”

They hear a pointed clearing of a throat and see an older member of the coven looking at them scoldingly. They both give apologetic expressions and then laugh silently to each other when the old warlock looks away.

It’s just as well because the High Priest has just stepped down to allow Edward at the podium, leading the next part of the sermon. Zelda catches his eye and smiles warmly, reassuringly at him and it seems to give him a boost of confidence before he starts to speak.

“He’s done rather well for himself,” Faustus says low.

“Yes,” she agrees, and then adds, “Thanks, in part, to you.”

She looks over just in time to see the wry twitch of his lip as he huffs out a quiet sigh. “Indeed, he takes direction very well... and uses given knowledge to his advantage excellently.”

She doesn’t miss the bitterness, muted as it is, in his voice, but says anyway, “I know he’s very grateful for you.”

He takes a deep breath and nods, looking at her fondly. “As he should be for you. He barely ever stops talking about how brilliant and brave and  _helpful_ his little sister is.”

“Oh?” she says, smirking. “How annoying that must be for you.”

He smirks back. “On the contrary, it’s the one thing he talks about that I find tolerable at all.”

“For Satan’s sake, will you  _quiet down_ ?” the old warlock from before seethes at them. Faustus nods, Zelda covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing, and then shares a quick glance of mutual amusement with him before directing her attention back to her brother’s sermon.

——

When mass concludes, he bids his farewell with a short kiss to her hand and then meets Edward at the altar with the other members of the parish to shake hands with the exiting coven.

She steps from the pew and is just at the edge of the door when her father lightly grabs her arm and pulls her to the side. Hilda is standing nervously next to him and when Zelda sees the look on his face, she understands why.

“What do you think you’re doing talking to that Blackwood boy?” he says harshly.

She blinks in confusion. “Nothing, Father, I... “

“Are you heaven bent on ruining your brother’s campaign for high priest?” he snaps, gripping her arm tighter.

“Of course not,” she says, stricken. “I would nev-“

“Then explain to me why you let the entire coven see you cozied up to his strongest competition for the entirety of mass like some desperate harlot while your brother’s preaching! Do you ever even  _think_ , girl?”

She feels tears well in her eyes and her breathing speed up as she starts to panic. No... no, she didn’t think. And of course her father would be the first to reprimand her for it. He was always reprimanding her.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she whispers, “I’d forgotten.”

“You’d  _forgotten_ ?” he snarls.

“It’s my fault,” Hilda interjects and both Zelda and Mr. Spellman look at her quickly.

“What?” he asks. “What do you mean?”

She takes a hesitant breath, wringing her hands together. “You see, Father - I’d sent Brother Blackwood over to Zelda just before mass started.”

“Why on Earth would you do that?” he says, and Zelda’s eyes grow wide with worry.

“Well,” she looks at the floor sheepishly, “I knew how the three of them - Edward, Zelds, and Faustus - had been friends at the Academy and with Zelda just getting home, I thought it would be a nice gesture to invite him over for Sunday supper.”

“You _what_?!”

“I thought,” she continues, “The coven’s been talking a lot about unity lately. How we need to come together for a focused vision. We witches are so vulnerable when at odds, and I just figured... what a wonderful thing it might be for the coven to see the Spellmans _uniting_ with a ‘rival’ for the greater good? ... How nice it might look for Edward to show fellowship when the Blackwoods have yet to extend such diplomacy?”

Zelda gulps, feeling her father’s grip loosen slightly as he eyes his younger daughter.

“And it was Zelda who knew how to sell the idea and convince him to come ‘round, so... it just made sense for him to sit with her at mass,” she finishes hurriedly, all in one breath.

Mr. Spellman considers her for a moment, looking back to Zelda and begrudgingly dropping her arm. “It’s a fine idea, Hilda dear, well done. But I expect you to consult me beforehand next time,” he looks pointedly at Zelda.

“Yes, Father,” they say in unison and Zelda casts her eyes to the floor.

“I suppose we should hurry home, since we are to have  _guests_ this evening,” he fixes his hat to his head, and swiftly exits the door.

Hilda softly approaches her, touching her shoulder soothingly and she feels herself start to get more upset from it, so she tenses and shrugs her off, then whispers coldly, “I’m fine, sister.”

Turning on her heel, Hilda follows after her, and she departs so quickly - she doesn’t notice that Faustus had been watching the entire scene, gritting his teeth and muttering the beginnings of a curse under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d been meeting Edward at the front steps on his way to the Academy for several years, but now he’s just outside the door of the Spellman house – he realizes he can’t recall the last time he’s been inside. Though he supposes he shouldn’t find that surprising – he can’t recall the last time Edward was invited to his house, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta stop thinking I can wrap shit up in three chapters ‘cause I genuinely don’t know how to edit myself at all.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for your patience. I know life gets very real and fast over the holidays, but I hope everyone is psyched for part 3 soon and that you enjoy this chapter!

He’d been meeting Edward at the front steps on his way to the Academy for several years, but now he’s just outside the door of the Spellman house – he realizes he can’t recall the last time he’s been inside. Though he supposes he shouldn’t find that surprising – he can’t recall the last time Edward was invited to his house, either.

Their fathers had been in similar positions years ago – when the last high priest was up for retirement and they were friends turned colleagues turned adversaries very quickly. They’d both failed in obtaining the title and blamed the other for their downfall. It was only logical they seek retribution through their sons.

It’s not necessarily that Faustus or Edward didn’t want the title themselves - they were both naturally ambitious - but he often realized that any disdain he felt for Edward was usually the result of one of their fathers being present for their discourse. It was like a switch, really – alone, they could amicably debate for hours, but under the judgmental eye of the senior Spellman or Blackwood, tensions would unfailingly arise. It had gotten worse as of late, as the selection grew nearer, and there was a part of Faustus that truly resented it. Nonetheless, above all else – his purpose was to secure the position for himself and his family and he would do just about anything to ensure it.

He knows this invitation to dinner hasn’t come without an agenda – he’s not nearly as oblivious as one Frederick Spellman would believe – but he’s counting on _him_ to be oblivious to the agenda of his own. He’s heard the whispers from the coven about the warring Blackwoods and Spellmans and he knows this is an attempt to quell any further gossip. He also knows the fact the  _he’s_ visiting the Spellmans and not the other way around looks favorably towards Edward. But if there’s any grander display of unity than a polite dinner among competitors, it’s an eternal union with one of them through marriage.

It’s not unheard of for a high priest to be without a spouse, but it is uncommon. As such, the fact he and Edward – two perpetual bachelors - have made it this far in the race is somewhat surprising. What’s more is that Edward seems none too concerned with this element of electability and thus, it may be just what Faustus needs to push him over the edge into the winning circle.

He had heard of Zelda’s return while in Italy and the idea struck him as he lay awake in bed one night. Perhaps he was thinking of her in a slightly different context at the time, having looked forward to her company that evening and soothing the disappointment by withdrawing to his own company in bed, but that’s hardly here nor there. What’s important is that she’s an impeccable match for him – skilled, intelligent, beautiful, from a well-respected family, and pious to a near fault. The fact that he thoroughly enjoys her company (and her body) is just an added bonus. And he could admit the news that she would be returning to Greendale - to a sea of single warlocks looking for the shiniest object of a wife to hold on their arm - made him want to act quickly.   


Though it’s been some time since he and Zelda had any sort of unspoken claim to each other, he doesn’t forget the year following their first match together for Lupercalia when they’d failed to match a second time. How his blood boiled at the sight of her being in another man’s arms and how maddening the night of The Hunt had been hearing the unmistakable sounds of her pleasure through the wood at the hands of someone else. He never let it happen again - the next several years at The Academy seeing them curiously matched each time. Chalking it up to the will of the goddess Helene, they began to be looked at as a unit, two halves of a whole. He remembers how crowds parted for them, in the hallways, how admired they were as a couple, and how powerful he felt with her by his side. As such, they had practically governed a generation of the coven already. To do so now in an official capacity was only logical... certain, almost.

The only roadblock is her surname. It would take some convincing for his father to see the brilliance of it – and he imagines there will be some resistance from Mr. Spellman, as well – but he has no other reason to doubt that it won’t go according to plan. A bit of courting, a well-timed discussion or two, and it’ll be sealed.

He can’t imagine Zelda refusing him, either – she’s too much like him and she recognizes an opportunity for power just as quickly, if not quicker, than he does. They’ll be good together – great even, he knows it. And though loyal to Edward, she’ll see the benefit of being by his side – that it’ll still be a victory for the Spellmans – just her at the helm instead of him. He just needs to convince her that it’s hers to take.

Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s all buildup, but I promise it’s important and the richer bits are already mostly written. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They settle into the various armchairs and sofas as Edward hands Faustus a drink. Their conversation begins light and superficial enough, but it’s not long before they’re both in a heated discussion regarding the biblical story of Abraham and Isaac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tense dinner. Explosive dinner. Gave me anxiety writing it, but woo sex in the next chapter! Just hang in there, m8s! X

It’s Hilda who greets him and her nervous, albeit cheerful energy is potent in the air. She politely takes his coat and directs him to the parlor where Edward and Mr. Spellman are enjoying drinks.

Edward greets him warmly, standing and walking over to pat his arm, “Faustus, glad you join us.”

Mr. Spellman trails right after him, shaking his hand with a notably firm grip, “Indeed, m’boy, very pleased you could make it.”

Faustus nods with a hesitant smile, “Thank you for having me, sir.”

“Of course, of course,” he says genially, releasing his hand and looking past over Faustus’ shoulder curiously. ”Has your father not joined you?”

“Oh, well um… “ he glances nervously at Edward. “I wasn’t aware the invitation extended to my father. And, at any rate, he’s currently away to Canada with his wife.”

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Spellman smirks and Edward gives him a quick apologetic look. “Will this make the fourth or fifth Lady Blackwood now?” he laughs to himself.

“Father,” Edward says, embarrassed.

“Oh, no matter – Thaddeus always was a bit of a libertine,” he says, raising a suggestive brow. “Served him rather well in his youth – old habits die hard, I suppose.”

Faustus and Edward simply give a tight smile and nod, the silence noticeably uncomfortable.

“But yes - nonsense, nonsense,” Mr. Spellman recovers, clearing his throat, “An invitation to any of you is an invitation to you all – know that for the future.”

“Yes, sir,” Faustus says, grateful this portion of the conversation is now over.

They settle into the various armchairs and sofas as Edward hands Faustus a drink. Their conversation begins light and superficial enough, but it’s not long before they’re both in a heated discussion regarding the biblical story of Abraham and Isaac.

“How can you villainize the mortal for doing what his God, false as he is, commanded?” Edward says, and Mr. Spellman noticeably bristles at the near-blasphemous argument his son is making. “It wasn’t a murder wish, it was a test of loyalty. Would you not do that same if the Dark Lord asked it of you?”

“Our Dark Lord would never ask us to burn a child,” Faustus counters. “Nor any of our kind… the mortals do enough of that for us.”

“But if he  _did_ ?” Edward insists, and Faustus shakes his head with a dismissive sigh, “If he  _did_ , not one among us would challenge the order of our Lord Satan and you know as well as I for that to be true. I believe we are too critical of the mortals when we share more similarities than we do differences.”

“Son,” Mr. Spellman interrupts, giving him a scolding look. “You’re far too bold. I’ll not hear such flippancy under my roof.”

Edward softens and Faustus looks off uncomfortably to the fireplace. “Father,” he says, “I mean no disrespect to our Dark Lord, our people, or to you, but if we are ever to end the war between us – I think we need to listen and understand the mortals better. Is that not our purpose as clergymen? To lead and guide us to a better, more peaceful future?”

Mr. Spellman huffs, rising to his feet back towards the liquor cabinet, but then halts and gestures, glass in hand, to Faustus. “You tutored my son once. Was he always such an idealist or is this a product of some progressive attitude at the Academy I should know about?”

Edward gives an annoyed look and Faustus sighs out a laugh. “Well sir, Edward has always been strong-minded and… unique in his ministerial pursuits. I would say we have always shared different views on how to approach things.”

“Thanks for that,” Edward mutters under his breath.

“But I cannot say it has served him poorly at any point,” he relents. Faustus doesn’t know why he’s being so helpful at present, but something about being criticized by one’s father in front of company sits a little too familiar with him. Though he gets the sense that Edward could quite literally denounce Satan himself and declare his intentions to join a monastery and receive little more than a terse slap on the wrist.

Mr. Spellman is on the verge of another remark, but then Zelda appears in the doorway and he and Edward straighten at once.

She’s wearing a black lace cocktail dress, which frames her figure perfectly and what most would consider far too ostentatious for a simple Sunday supper. But then that has always been Zelda’s way, he muses – anticipating the expected and far exceeding it on any occasion.

Edward rises and walks to her, kissing her cheek, “Evening, sister.”

“Hi, brother,” she hugs him lightly.

Faustus follows after him, gently accepting her hand and bowing to kiss it. “You look lovely, Sister Spellman,” he smiles at her as he rises.

“Thank you,” she smiles back warmly and all the tension of the past hour melts away, his spirits quite literally feeling like a weight has been lifted and he’s floating on air.

“You spent all those hours getting ready, I do hope you’ve found time to tend to the table,” Mr. Spellman says and her face falls slightly.

“Of course, Father – it’s been set for quite some time,” she says low.

“And why aren’t you helping your sister in the kitchen?” he asks, unimpressed.

Faustus’ previous sympathy for Edward suddenly dulls to nearly nothing in the face of what he’s witnessing now. His chest tightens and he has to make a concentrated effort not to contort his face into a glare.

“Hilda requested I leave and said she had it handled,” she almost whispers.

Mr. Spellman rolls his eyes and huffs, but before he can cut into her any further, Faustus interjects, “I’ve heard sometimes an artist’s best work is done alone. And it’s wonderful to have the additional company while we wait.”

Zelda gives him a grateful glance and Edward finally chimes in to agree.

“Hmph,” Mr. Spellman grumbles out. “Well, at least make yourself useful and refresh the drinks. Honestly – it’s as if we’ve not ever had guests.”

She does as told and tops off all three of their glasses with fresh ice and a generous pour of liquor, her eyes uncharacteristically downcast the entire time. Faustus catches her hand twitching towards a fourth glass when she sets the bottle back down on the counter, but then she simply wrings her hands and moves to sit at the drawing table. However, before she can reach it – Hilda enters and proudly declares that dinner is served.

Instead of following after Edward and Mr. Spellman, he glides over to her and offers his arm. Zelda glances over at the doorway, as if she’s making sure her father’s back is turned and preoccupied with stuffing his gob, before taking it with a warm look. He walks purposefully slow, handing her his drink, and tossing her a playful wink before she smiles and takes a grateful sip. Handing it back to him as they enter the foyer, she whispers fondly, “The absolute cheek,” and he laughs under his breath.

Once they’ve consumed the bulk of their plates of the feast Hilda prepared, discussion starts up again and predictably lands right back on religious philosophies, picking up where they left off.

Hilda, seeming to find the topic too intimidating, says very little – just lingers over her roasted potatoes, cutting them into smaller and smaller bits to keep herself occupied. Zelda, on the other hand, couldn’t look more interested, though she’s taken to nursing her glass of wine as she watches them intently – her gaze darting back and forth between them as though she were a spectator at a tennis match.

“I think it is our job to reinterpret the Dark Lord’s word as time progresses – the tenants of our faith aren’t stagnant, nor are we as his people,” Edward says impassioned and flushed with drink, “Times change and so do witches.”

Faustus shakes his head, and Mr. Spellman eyes his son curiously before turning to Faustus. “What do you say to this, m’boy?”

He takes a thoughtful breath and then says, “I think the closer we keep the Dark Lord’s word, as it was written, to our chests – the more prosperous we will be. In all our history, we have been at our strongest when we abided strictly by his direction and will,” Faustus raises a pointed brow to Edward, who rolls his eyes and huffs into his wine glass.

“What about you, Zelly?” Edward nods to her, gulping back the remnants of his glass. “Surely, all that enlightenment over in Europe has produced some news ideas for the Church. And surely my bright and learnéd sister has adopted a few?” he smirks with a twinkle in his eye.

“I do hope not,” Mr. Spellman says gruffly, and the smile that had begun to form on her face fades. “Your sister wasn’t sent there to participate in such folly - which would be far too inappropriate for a young woman - she was there to serve the Dark Lord by bringing new witches into the world. Isn’t that right, Zelda?”

“Yes, Father,” she agrees and Hilda silently places her hand over her sisters supportively, the two sharing a nod before she stands and announces she’ll be fetching the dessert and tea.

“I remember what she was sent for, Father,” Edward drunkenly continues, dismissing him with a tight grimace and wave of his hand, and Hilda - not having been remotely acknowledged by her father and brother - sighs and then hurries in the kitchen for what she must believe will be a remedy for this rapidly spiraling conversation. Faustus begins to feel a tense shift in the tide, so he attempts to reel it back in and clears his throat before Edward’s mouth can get away from him.

“I’d love to hear your thoughts, Sister,” he quickly says, looking at her reassuringly. “Perhaps you could guide us beyond our impasse?”

Zelda takes a hesitant breath, tucking her hair behind her ear and glancing at her father who appears to be allowing her to speak.

“Well,” she starts. “I’m not sure my view of our faith comes from any particular enlightenment,” she looks at Edward who hiccups through a goofy smile, “but... the Dark Lord has never failed me. Since long before I signed his book, I prayed to him for so many things and he always answered, even if it took me some time to see it. So when I pledged my loyalty and he granted me such amazing power in return, I believe I pledged to be loyal to his word, as well.”

Faustus gestures triumphantly at Edward, though he just smugs. “But... ?” Edward prods her with an expectant look.

“But,” she looks at him with amused annoyance, “Part of the Dark Lord’s word is that we’re all given different paths and they all serve a purpose, which I can’t say in all certainty wouldn’t include an idealistic young warlock restructuring and reforming the Church, if it was indeed his will.”

“Aha!” Edward points back at Faustus who throws his hands up in mock surrender.

“Enough now,” Mr. Spellman interrupts. “I’ll not have you confusing your sister with ideas of grandeur. She knows her place, and will dutifully stay there.”

“Oh, lighten up, Father,” Edward is well and truly off his tits now and Zelda’s face floods with worry. “You never give her the credit she deserves. Zelly was top of her class in everything, consistently outwitted warlocks twice her age in spades, in SPADES, Father.”

“Edward,” Zelda mouths pleadingly and Faustus tries to think quickly of how to diffuse this situation before it’s past the point of no return.

“Don’t condescend to me, boy,” he retorts, swigging on his own nearly empty scotch glass. “I’m well aware of your sister’s antics at the Academy and her frequent visits to the headmaster’s office.”

“CAKE!” Hilda enters, smiling nervously. “Delicious lemon cake, mother’s recipe, who’s ready for a piece?

Zelda shakes her head warningly and Hilda starts to retreat, but the damage has already been done.

“She saw the headmaster all the time ‘cause he was fascinated with her,” Edward slurs out, “Everyone was.”

“Wonder why that was,” Mr. Spellman looks at her with disgust and Faustus instinctively leans forward to shield her. “Speaking of your mother, what on earth would she think of you now, hm?”

Zelda’s lips quiver and warm tears are filling her eyes, ready to spill over.

“She’d be proud, unlike you, Dad,” Edward sneers and Zelda shudders as she fights against the sobs that wrack through her body, Faustus now placing a hand on her knee as he feels just how badly she’s trembling. “‘Cause she’s done everything the best. Top midwife, hasn’t lost a babe yet, dedicated scholar... Zelly’s a STAR.”

“Edward,” Faustus whispers harshly and this mercifully gets his attention. But it’s also gotten Mr. Spellman’s attention and his eyes dart down to where Faustus’ hand is covering his daughter’s knee.

“Oh, I see,” he practically spits out, “Yes, as usual - my whore of a daughter has sold herself out to the highest bidder. What’s it to gain this time, better grades, lead solo in the choir, or do you simply take money as payment now? Huh, girl?”

“That’s not true, Father,” she sobs and Edward shouts his own mumbled protest as Faustus feels his blood pump loudly in his ears, “That was nev-“

“DON’T you dare lie to me,” he grits out. “You expect me to believe all those accolades were based on merit? That you ever saw a single stroke of success without spreading your legs like some common slut?”

“Father, stop!” Edward stands to pull on Mr. Spellman’s lapel and guide him away, but he clearly has not the balance nor strength because he simply slumps down to the floor.

“ ... And don’t tell me you didn’t take your talents to Europe and fuck your way through the coven there for some paltry praise after paltry praise. ... A star, indeed.”

“That’s enough, Sir,” Faustus says steady, though he feels prepared to jump at the the old codger’s throat.

“Enough,” Edward throws up a weak fist from the floor.

“You’ve been fine company, boy, but you will not make demands of me in own house,” he looks down at Edward’s sloppily splayed out body. “Nor will you make a fool of my family. I think it’s time you leave.”

“I will not leave Zelda here with you. Your daughter is frightened, your son is drunk, and your other daughter has already had the good sense to leave,” he says more firmly and she grasps gratefully at his arm, wrapping hers over his. “I’ve no desire to make a fool of your family as you have, sir.”

Mr. Spellman glares at him silently for a moment, then says, “Get out. Take her if you want, but know she’s damaged goods. Has been since she was born.”

Faustus doesn’t think twice before getting up from the table and gently pulling a shocked and devastated Zelda towards the front door. Once outside, he gathers her in his arms, her entire body still shaking, and then whispers the spell that will take them home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A truly filthy, emotional, and long sex scene to come. You earned it after this, babes. lol Thanks for reading! xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what’s up you guys, yes! 
> 
> Joining the rest of the CAOS fandom and panic-posting the last of my unfinished fics before part 3 turns it all to shit. :)
> 
> This is long as fuck and I’m not at all pleased with it, but I’ve less than a day to finish m8, so it is what it is woooo. 
> 
> Updated the tags to include some very important trigger warnings. Please take heed! 
> 
> Sorry this is shit, thanks for sticking with me, love you all bye!

_He’d run just past the edge of the forest before the first tear fell, having been determined to take his punishment with indifference. The previous time, he had made it through the bulk of it without a sound, until the very end when the combination of insult and injury hit quite literally too hard and he finally cried._

_He was still shirtless, the cold air stinging against the fresh lashes on his back, and he let out a frustrated scream that echoed through the trees in a timbre that reflected his transitioning age from boy to man. At 12 years of age, he was old enough to understand and determine when discipline was warranted and when it wasn’t. He had tried his very best to_ _cast the spell without error - he’d stayed up all the night before practicing until his hands were numb - so when his father put him on display to demonstrate the perfection of the Blackwood line to company, he was sure he was going to get it right. But his nerves were unsteady and in the course of the incantation, he became distracted by the tick of a clock and wound up setting the visiting Lady Carson’s petticoat on fire._

_He hadn’t meant to, of course, and he hadreacted swiftly enough to extinguish it that no harm was really done. But he saw the look in his father’s eyes and began steeling himself for the ritual discipline he was assured would make him stronger and less careless in the future. He tried hard to believe that was true - that his father was only trying to make him better under the Lord Satan’s watchful eye and command - but something about the additional shoves down the stairs, backhands to the face, and consistent remarks of his worth (or lack thereof) made him curious for when he would feel strong enough not to care._

_ For as little help as she was, he missed his mother most in times like now. She never stopped it or intervened - and truthfully, he could not blame her, his father was a terrifying man - but she at least comforted him after. Showed him that she cared ( ...at least  someone cared). Even if a bruise a two appeared on her face from time to time, knowing he wasn’t alone was enough. But she’d been gone nearly two years now - called home to Satan after mysteriously falling from a nearby cliff. And ‘alone’ didn’t even begin to cover how he felt now. _

_Pacing in the woods next to his favorite boyhood tree, fists clenched at his sides, chest heaving with hyperventilating breaths, and tears rapidly falling - his father’s voice stayed echoing in his head._

_“‘You’re a failure.’ ‘No son of mine.’ ‘Useless, stupid boy.’ ‘Biggest regret of my life.’ ‘Should have gone up that cliff with your mother.’”_

_ His face red with rage and despair, he looked down at his hands and hated how they’d failed him. How this could’ve been prevented if he’d just gotten the fucking spell right. He hated,  hated them... hated himself. He was useless, he was stupid, he was a failure, and he would be better off dead... _

_With a loud scream coming from the depths of his suffering, he slammed his fist into the tree beside him. The force of it broke open his skin and drops of blood started to pool around his knuckles._

_It hurt._

_But it also didn’t._

_So he hit the tree again. More pain, more blood, but he kept going. Before long, he was punching and scratching so furiously that his mangled hands stained the bark red._

_ It didn’t hurt at all then. It felt like something heavy was lifting... like he had control for once in his life... that he deserved this because  he thought so and no one else. And that felt... good. _

_He didn’t know how long he was there, but the sight of the blood-soaked tree suggested it had been quite a while. His hands were in tatters and he could only imagine that if anyone happened upon him, they’d assume he was attacked by an animal of some kind. But looking at them now was a wonder - he didn’t hate them as much... look at what they could weather, after all. Look at how they’d numbed all his pain._

_Had this been the strength he’d been looking for? Was this a sign from Satan? A gift? He certainly felt more powerful than he ever had before, so it must’ve been._

_And if it was - it was meant for him only and he knew it. He had prayed for so long to not feel helpless and finally, he thought while healing his wounds, he had a way to help himself._  
  


*****

He’s just returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea, sitting next to her on the sofa and gently setting it on the coffee table in front of her. She hasn’t cried at all, but the pain in her eyes is unmistakable, and he knows from experience there’s a swell of emotions buried under what must be a very fragile shell at present.

“Thank you, Faustus,” she whispers, but doesn’t reach for the tea, instead wringing her hands idly in her lap.

“Here,” he says, grabbing the throw blanket atop the edge of the sofa and wrapping it around her, “I know it’s a bit chilly, I didn’t think to leave a fire on when I left.”

She sighs out a small laugh, “I didn’t even notice, to be honest,” though she gratefully hugs the blanket closer to her, smiling warmly at him, and uncovering her hands so she can reach for the tea.

“I took the liberty of including an extra additive,” he nods at the tea. “I hope it’s alright.”

“Foxglove?” she asks, dipping the spoon in the warm liquid, and he raises a brow. “Hilda often makes me tea with foxglove.”

He laughs sheepishly, “Uh… not quite. Bourbon, actually.”

She gives him an amused look and then brings the cup to her lips, “Well, in that case…” and she takes a hearty sip.

It’s just as she sets it back down that there’s a light tapping at the window and Faustus walks over to see what appears to be a luminescent moth flying into the glass.

Zelda joins him, gasping softly, and immediately recognizes the creature. “It’s from Hilda,” she says and he opens the window to allow it in.

“Is it a… what is it for?” he asks, confused as it lands on Zelda’s offered palm.

She looks slightly embarrassed and bites her lip before explaining. “I used to make her these when we were little and she’d had a nightmare. It kept her from disturbing mother and father and usually helped her back to sleep.”

Fautus’ lip turns up into a half-smile as she cautiously continues. “She started using them to find me once we were older and I’d… occasionally… sneak out,” she smirks at him and he laughs to himself.

“I might remember a few such occasions,” he says suggestively and she raises her brow with a nod.

“I imagine so,” she whispers, taking a deep breath, twirling her hand above the glowing moth and whispering a quiet spell so that it turns from a bright yellow to green. “My sister’s way of making sure I’m still alive, I suppose.” and she guides the creature out the window, into the night air, to fly away back to Hilda.

Turning to him after shutting the window, she catches his eye and then hugs her arms around herself, clearly feeling a bit too exposed, “A silly waste of magic, at any rate,” she sighs.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don’t think so. It’s not silly to keep track of those you care for. If I’d had a brother or sister, I’d likely do the same.”

“Mmm,” she smiles sadly. “Yes, siblings can be a blessing. Though I imagine there’s perks to being an only child… “ and she diverts her eyes to the floor, “I’m sure my father wishes he’d only had Edward.”

He purses his lips and steps in closer to her, laying his hands on her arms. “And what a fool he’d be if that’s true.”

There’s an extended pause as she looks at him, tears beginning to glisten in her eyes, before she shrugs and shakes her head, knitting her brows together in mock suspicion. “You’re not this sweet, Faustus Blackwood, I know you much better than that.”

He laughs softly, pulling her quickly to his chest and holding her close, his nose brushing against hers. “No, I’m not. I’m not sweet at all.”

She smiles, her eyes becoming heavier by the second as they dart from his mouth back up to his gaze, “You’re rather horrible, in fact. Wicked, even.”

He brings his hand up to her face, cupping her cheek and huffing out a quiet laugh, “Yes… truly awful,” and then he crashes his lips to hers.

They’d both be lying if either said the thought never crossed their mind that this is where they’d naturally end up. Though it’s been years since they last fucked, the feel of each other’s skin and the ease in which they divest one another of their clothes - anticipating each move as if it were a choreographed dance they’d practiced for years - is so seamless it’s as if it were entirely instinctive. And perhaps it is.

It’s only minutes later that they’re in his bedroom and Zelda is stripped down to only her underwear, Faustus miraculously still in possession of his trousers as he pins her to the wall and assaults her neck with hot, opened-mouth kisses. She holds onto him roughly, her nails digging into the sensitive skin of his back as she moans and sighs and leans into his every touch.

“Still find me to be wicked?” he murmurs against her skin, hands coming up to massage her breasts.

“Most definitely,” she answers, breathless, gasping when he pinches one of her rosy nipples. “Don’t you dare be sweet to me now.”

He laughs, capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss and then grasping her wrists to pin her hands above her head. “As you wish.”

She catches the brief glint in his eye, but in the half-second her brain catches up, aware enough to be questioning, the silken cloths he’s just conjured have wrapped tightly around her wrists and tugged her forward so that she’s suspended from the ceiling, arms bound above her and her feet just barely touching the floor. She’s entirely at his mercy and it takes her several sharp breaths for her to fully realize it. Once she does, her eyes narrow and she looks at him coolly, though her pulse is beating so fast, it’s practically visible on her throat.

Oh, what a wicked bastard indeed.

He seems to take a cruel sense of pride in his work, his eyes fixated on where her arms are suspended above, then roaming down to her mouth where he stops and smiles, leaning in. “Comfortable, darling?”

She huffs out a quiet laugh. “Surely you don’t think this is my first time in bindings?” she says against his lips and he just barely smirks, giving one final tug to make sure the ties are secure.

“Well,” he says, playfully brushing his nose against hers and just nearly kissing her before pulling back, “perhaps I could make it more interesting for you.”

She raises a brow, smiling challengingly, and he slides his palms together to materialize another piece of silken cloth.

“And what do you intend to do with that?” she asks casually.

“Hm,” he pouts his lips for a second and then walks behind her, her breath quickening with each step he takes (though she’ll be damned if she’ll actually show it). It’s been so long since they’ve met this way that she’d forgotten the overwhelming effect he had on her. She would never so much as even suggest it, but a mere look from him in her youth was enough to have her cunt slick with want and the way he’s circling her now - like a hawk to a fresh piece of meat - is stirring a desire in her that she’s not felt in far too long a time.

She never went without a lover in her bed if she wanted it. She had taken her fair share of them over the years and was often satisfied with their performance - some even receiving the honor of an encore on occasion - but no one played with her like he did. No one else knew how to read her, tease her to her peak, wind her tight, and snap her into pieces at exactly the right moment. But he had always known - as if she were a book he’d read cover to cover a thousand times over when in actuality - he’d not so much as even finished a chapter. She wonders briefly if this talent is reserved for her alone or if he’s this good with  _all_ his (surely countless) lovers, but then the warmth of his chest settles against her back and all other thought goes out the window.

Without a word, he carefully reaches in front of her face and lays the fabric over her eyes, tying a firm but not too tight knot and effectively blocking her sight.

“Far be it from me to bore you, Sister Spellman,” he murmurs against the back of her neck, nipping lightly at her skin. “Satan knows what the covens of Europe get up to these days. Though I do hope this isn’t  _too_ intense for you.”

“Why should it be?” she sighs out, trying - with the increasing difficulty - to hide just how far gone she already is. Turning her head to the side towards the sound of his breathing, she asks softly, “Are you going to hurt me, Brother Blackwood?”

She can practically hear the grin in his voice, his hand brushing lightly against the small of her back, and then the warmth of his breath is against her ear, “Would you like me to?”

She visibly shudders, letting out a deep sigh and turns her face to feel his lips press firm kisses across her cheek and jaw. He’s overpowering - his hands everywhere, the rich scent of his cologne permeating the air around her and making her feel dizzy. He’s too much and not enough in equal measures - something more demure girls would call dangerous, but she and Faustus... they were cut from the same cloth. So she could prove she was dangerous, too. Half-smiling, she breathes out, “Perhaps I would.”

“Mmm, certain about that?” he muffles into the crook of her neck.

“Well... “ and she nudges his face up towards her mouth, “that is, if you can manage to,” and she brushes her lips over his, waiting in lustful anticipation for him to close the gap.

But he doesn’t. Instead, she hears a soft chuckle as he steps away and then the unmistakeable sound of him unbuckling his belt.

Dear Satan.

A shiver runs over her, but she tries to remain unphased. However, this gets challenged when in the next moment she feels the smooth leather of his looped belt graze up her thigh. She straightens at the touch and a soft gasp escapes her lips.

“Are you frightened, Zelda?” he says in a low whisper and she lets out a small moan, her legs spreading further apart and her back arching, awaiting his touch.

“Whatever for?” she sighs.

He laughs softly, placing his hand on her back and raking his fingers down her spine. She tenses and pleads out his name - soft, almost inaudible, trying to prove (to herself mostly) that she possesses a modicum of self-restraint.

“Some people fear what they need most,” he says, his hand skating over her backside, squeezing lightly.

“And what is it that you think I need?” her voice is shaking and her arms start to tremble, almost certain of what comes next, but she finds being suspended in the moment between ‘almost’ and ‘certainty’ is as sweet a torture as what’s to come.

“I think,” he trails the belt over her ass, his voice unnervingly even, “you need to be reminded how very bad a girl you’ve been.”

She takes a sharp inhale of breath just as she hears the harsh noise of his belt cutting through the air, landing its first stinging blow at the top of her thigh. Her hands wrap tight around her bindings and her balance falters slightly as the next lash comes faster than she’d anticipated.

“Faus-“ she gasps out unintentionally, quickly closing her mouth and steeling herself for the next blow. His hand curves around her hip and he purrs in her ear, “Is it too much for you, darling girl? ... There’s no shame in saying so.”

“No,” she pants, letting her head fall back on his shoulder. “It’s like you said,” nuzzling her face into his neck to encourage him, “I need to be punished.”

She doesn’t miss the gruffness of his laugh nor the the feel of his nails scratching over her skin as he draws back again.

“Such a beautiful, tight arse,” he breathes out, “Shame I’ll have to make it all bloodyand bruised, hm?”

“The Dark Lord compels us to do what we must,” she pants, the muscles in her thighs tightening as she pulls herself up to brace against her bindings.

“Indeed,” she hears the clanking of the buckle as he wraps the belt in his hands, “And what is it the Dark Lord demands of us, Zelda?”

She freezes, not sure what he’s asking. He demands many things, after all, and far be it from her to guess the wrong one. She opens her mouth to speak, but he quickly cuts her off.

“Zelda,” he repeats firmly, “if you can’t keep from stalling, I’ll have to believe you don’t want to do better... that you don’t want to be good.”

“No,” she gasps, stricken at the thought of this ending so soon. Somewhere within the last few minutes, she’s decided she does indeed  need this and Satan be saved if she’ll let him think he’s too advanced or too hard for her, “I do want to. Please, let me prove how good I can be.”

“Hm,” he grunts, taking a lingering moment to consider her. “Then start with this... recite the covenants of the Church of Night.”

She takes a deep, hesitant breath, “Why?”

The strike of the belt lands hard on her ass and she yelps.

“Good girls don’t question their seniors,” he says roughly, cracking the belt down again. “Now, do as I say.”

She’s whimpering and mewls softly just before she begins to speak, twisting her legs inwards to guard against the next lash (and to hide the evidence of her arousal dripping down her thighs). “First,” she pants, “Thou shall thrive on the basis of your own merits.”

A lash.

“And have you?” he asks.

She gasps, voice straining, “Yes.”

Another.

“Continue,” he commands.

“Second - Thou shall not convince oneself of untruths because they are more desirable than the truth.”

He strikes her again.

“And have you taken comfort in untruths, Sister Zelda?” his voice has become shaky and low and it only makes her tremble harder.

“N-no,” she says, breathless, and the harshest blow thus far hits across her thighs.

“Don’t lie,” he quickly steps up to her side and though she has no access to her sight, she can feel just how menacing he is.

“Have you let any other besides you determine how you see yourself?” it’s a low whisper against her ear and she shudders.

“I... “ he smacks the belt down again, though slightly softer, and she whines. “... Perhaps.”

“Let them make you feel unworthy of praise?” he asks.

She swallows, her throat tightening with the beginnings of tears. “Yes.”

“Because you like to be told you’re a dirty, useless thing, isn’t that right?” he trails the back of his hand over her side, down her stomach. “It’s easier to believe you’re the failure and disgrace of a witch he says you are, isn’t it?”

Warm tears are pooling in her eyes, dampening the cloth of the blindfold, but she knows he doesn’t need to see the evidence to understand he’s on the edge of having gone too far.

She takes a shaky breath, “Faustus... “

“It’s untrue, though - isn’t it, Zelda?” he glides his fingers down her ribs, hooking his free hand around her waist. “You deserve praise, don’t you?”

She’s shaking so hard now, it must look like she’s on the brink of a fit, but she manages to plant her feet and keep herself steady as he palms at her sore backside.

“That’s the real truth. You deserve to hear how... intoxicating,” he gives her ass a soothing squeeze, “powerful,” pulls her hips into his, “and devoted you are,” his warm breath glides over her collarbone as he presses his lips softly across her chest.

“St-... Faustus, please, I can’t,” she begs.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Zelda,” he murmurs against her skin and the sensations and emotions and pain have become too oppressive all at once.

“I can’t,” she repeats weakly.

“That’s right... because you  do deserve all I’ve said and you know it,” his lips kiss up her neck as his fingers glide atop the waistband of her underwear.

“And you deserve pleasure,” his hand slips under the satin fabric and a soft groan escapes his lips at the feel of her slick flesh on his fingers.

It feels good, so good - his fingers tease gently through her folds and her mouth falls open in a sweet sigh. He trails his mouth over her jaw, his other hand resting on her waist, belt still grasped in his fist.

“See what you’ve denied yourself, Zelda?” he whispers, softly stroking her aching clit. “How much decadence you’ve taken for granted when the Dark Lord’s laid it right at your feet? All the gifts you’ve been cheated from?”

She moans out a small sob.

“Tell me the next covenant,” he grits out and begins to rub her in earnest.

“Faustus... please... “ each breath a shuddering gasp.

His belt drops to the floor with a clank as his now freed hand smacks down hard against her ass. ”You insult my patience, sweetheart. I know you fancy yourself a filthy, sinful little whore, but I thought you were trying to be good.”

This suddenly like feels far too daunting a match and if not for his expert fingers and his solid warm presence next to her, she would have tapped out by now most certainly. If any other lover attempted to strip her down this rough and raw, she would promptly make her exit and leave with a few biting words to make them reconsider ever even looking at her again.

But Faustus was an exception. He was familiar... he was a friend... he knew her. Intimately. He could say the things he was now because they both knew them to be true. As if they had shared one another for years. And there was a small part of her tucked away deep inside since long ago that wanted that. Wanted him to be hers and her to be his.

It’s become too much, too quickly though... too real and her thoughts, feelings, and the sting on her flesh are pulling her in entirely opposite directions so hard that she feels herself begin to proverbially split into pieces.

“Please,” she repeats desperately and three of his fingers rake harshly over her core, her knees weakening a bit as she adjusts to the rough circles he presses over her cunt.

“I’ll continue for you, shall I?” he sayswith another half-hearted slap to her arse, mercilessly stroking her harder and faster that she begins bucking against his hand, crying out with each smack of his palm to her flesh.

“Thou shall remember their own importance, keep their eye on the grander picture, and their place in it,” he grunts out between each blow and she practically screams, frantically trying to suck in air.

“Do you know your importance, Zelda?” he rubs his free hand over her tortured flesh soothingly as she writhes harder down onto his other.

She’s so close to coming that it practically hurts, but so does the question, and the only thing she can do is splutter out a strangled sob.

“Mmm, Zelda... my darling girl... you’ve forgotten all the gifts you’ve been given, haven’t you? You’ve let others make the rules on how you get to use them... “ he whispers, his fingers rubbing her viciously, dancing erratically over her clit.

“You’ve let yourself believe you’re not worthy of our Dark Lord’s praise,” he sounds far too steady for the depth and labor of his breathing, but it’s a detail she cares not to focus on at present, “But you are worthy. You’re such a good girl... “

She takes in several fast, gasps of air, edging so close to release.

“His good girl,” he whispers, “my perfect girl” and that does it. She comes, crying out and rocking fiercely onto his hand - legs shaking, thighs trembling and finishing as a shuddering, sobbing wreck.  


*****

He lets her ride it out to completion before withdrawing his hand, watching in triumph at how she’s let herself free for him. Her thighs are still twitching, but - wrapping his arm around her - he pulls her up to steady her as he mutters a spell that vanishes her bindings and blindfold. Her arms fall limp onto his shoulders and she lets her weight sink into him for support. It takes a few seconds of labored breathing for her to come down from it and once she does - she looks up at him, tears streaked down her face and lips trembling.

She’s clearly still processing the shock of it, but he holds her tight and within a few moments, she’s near languid in his arms, a satisfied half-smile on her face.

“So good,” he marvels in a whisper, kissing her softly once before bringing his fingers, still slick with her, up to her lips. Never breaking their gaze, she sucks the digits into her mouth gently with a quiet “mmm” and rolls her tongue over them until there’s scarcely of trace her left.

His cock strains tight against his trousers and when he removes his fingers, he abruptly replaces them with his mouth in a rough, possessive kiss. No need for more words - his brain couldn’t possibly think of anything clever now anyway, as he’s quickly being consumed by the overwhelming need to be inside her, to fuck her. Tongue sliding hungrily over hers, he carries her backwards towards the edge of the bed.

He’s half-prepared to toss her atop the mattress and have his way with her now she’s been sated, but - more than any other in his life, he thrives on savoring her. Feeling her skin against his and listening to the sweet sounds she makes... Satan in hell, he’d forgotten how much he’d missed this.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he settles her atop his lap as her she makes quick work of the zip to his trousers. The sudden feel of her soft hands on his cock renders him useless for a spare few moments as his eyes slam shut and he relishes the sensation. “Fuck,” he whispers and he hears he sigh. Opening his eyes, he slides his hand up into her hair as his other pulls abruptly at her hip. She mewls in response, hands anchoring to his shoulders and he guides himself to her entrance.

He pauses to look into her eyes, a few anticipatory breaths passing between them, and then claims her mouth as he thrusts up hard inside her.

They reach a perfect rhythm within moments, her hips rolling over his as he matches her with increasing intensity. The feel of her is overwhelmingly euphoric - she’s so wet and tight and each time he feels her clench around him and shiver in his arms with a gasp, he nearly comes right then and there.

He’s not at all surprised she’s on the brink of a second orgasm so soon - she had always been an insatiable partner - but as he digs his fingers hard into her hips to push deeper inside her, he realizes she’s holding herself back. That she’s withdrawing back into the dark corner he’s just ripped her from.

“Don’t you dare, Zelda,” he grits out and her eyes widen in surprise. She all but freezes, but he keeps her hips moving and gazes harsh and unyielding into her eyes. “Denying yourself is no longer an option, do you understand me?”

“Faustus,” she whimpers, hesitating, and he yanks one of her hands from his shoulders to guide it to her clit, moving it in slow circles for her as he stares at her commandingly. She catches on and, biting her lip, she lets out a strained moan as she begins pleasuring herself.

He breathes out a shaky sigh, “There’s a good girl,” and quickly recovers the harsh rhythm he’d set before. “I want to feel you come on my cock, sweetheart, and I know that’s what that tight little cunt wants, too, hm?”

Her eyes close tight as he thrusts up harder and faster, both of them gasping in near screams for air, and her hand wraps around the back of his neck to support herself.

“That’s it, darling girl,” he says, feeling her start to flutter around him as she rubs viciously over her clit, “Take what you want, Zelda. Take what’s yours.”

She comes with a high-pitched cry, her hands planting firmly into his chest as her thighs tremble. Before her climax can ebb away, he darts his fingers back over her clit, rubbing in hard, tight circles, and takes wicked pleasure in how her mouth falls open as she struggles to draw in breath - how her entire body shudders in complete ecstasy.

It’s a Satan delivered miracle he hasn’t spilled himself inside her, but with her being double sated now, he cannot control himself any longer. Quickly flipping her onto her back, he slides an arm under her thigh, pushing her leg up roughly as he fucks her hard into the mattress.

She throws her head back, grasping desperately at his arm and shoulder, and the pale column of her throat stretches beautifully beneath him. Burying his face against it, his hips snap forward once more and he’s coming, groaning loud and unabashed into her skin as empties himself inside her.

It takes several moments before he catches his breath enough to raise himself up and look at her. When he does, she’s still trembling and he reaches up to stroke the back of his hand against her face softly.

“Faustus,” she says earnestly and his heart somehow races a bit faster. He pauses, gazing down at her. In her eyes is a desperation he imagines must mirror his own, but there’s also a small bit of fear that comes only from a newly realized freedom and he’s suddenly taken back to when he was a boy in the forest. When he’d fought himself raw and unyielding and he’d walked out feeling a decades worth of pain lift into the air like it were dust. And it had all settled back into him again with time, but he fought it again. And again.

And again.

“Zelda,” he whispers back and he’s surprised at the reassuring tone of his own voice. He’s walked this path many times before, but it was always alone. Though he realizes all at once that she’s walked her own path, too, and now they’re both standing at the edge of a new one together.

But he curiously feels no fear or caution. No need to calculate his next move before stepping ahead. On the contrary, he’s never felt more sure that this is where the Dark Lord wants them both and that the legacy they’re going to build together will be nothing short of glorious. 

They spend the remainder of the night wrapped in each other’s arms, letting their sore muscles find solace in one another’s embrace. And when he awakens the next morning to see her still lying next to him - proving it wasn’t all dream - he knows he has a winning hand, but moreover... that he’d bet it all to have her as his queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole explanation planned out for why Mr. Spellman has such disdain for Zelda, but it’ll have to be saved for the director’s cut. If I can manage to finish the last chapter today, just know shit gets real. K, thanks for reading, hope there’s at least something redeeming in part 3 weeee!

**Author's Note:**

> I think there is a quiet agreement that Papa Spellman was a complete and total ass, but ya know... if I wind up being wrong about that, I’ll be happy about it. 
> 
> Rating will go up in last chapter. Thanks for reading!


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